


Lessons

by Hopetohell



Category: Bad Times at the El Royale (2018)
Genre: Cages, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Smut, Spit Kink, abuse of bird metaphors, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 08:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29996706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: A cage is not always a physical thing. Billy Lee brings you home.
Relationships: Billy Lee (Bad Times at the El Royale)/You





	Lessons

The cage is a metaphor; it’s Billy Lee looking you dead in the eye and saying _this is where you belong; if I could keep you beneath my boot always I would, but little bird. How you wriggle, how you writhe._ And so he makes for you a cage beside his bed where he can listen to you rustle and whine in the night when he brings others to his bed as if to say _this is what your disobedience has cost you._

It is a punishment made ever worse by what he knows is your devotion; if he let you loose now you’d stay, sweetly falling still beneath his hand, but you ran and made him fetch you home. You ran and _oh, sweet thing, are you not grateful_ for the way he keeps you close, for the way he reminds you of what you could’ve had, for what you still could have if could only earn his trust again. 

Within the cage, you can kneel and you can curl into a ball; when he lets you out you’ll be unable to stand, all your limbs locked tight with underuse, and oh how he will make your body flow like liquid til you are helpless in a different way. He’ll say _I don’t trust you again quite yet_ and he will chain you to the bed, but now. 

But now he keeps you here within your cage and when he wants to make use of you he simply says _come here._ And you will, won’t you, with the need to gain his approval once again, with the need to prove that he has your loyalty and devotion.  
 _  
Please, please, you’ve always had it but I was so afraid. I thought that I would be consumed, that you’d burn my wings and I would fall._

_Oh little bird. Your words are so pretty but so empty. Someday maybe I’ll believe you. Now come over here. If your mouth is full you won’t be capable of lying._ And Billy Lee feeds you his cock through the bars; your hands reach out and he takes you by the wrists so firmly all your little bones grind within his grasp. And in this act there is the kindness of possession; there is the liberating feeling of giving yourself up to him. This is a gift he gives to you, the chance to be a vessel for him, and if he makes use only of your mouth it’s still you that he has chosen; it’s still your wrists within his grasp. 

You’re still the favorite, still his prize— his _pride,_ fierce and flawed and broken to his will. And if the latter isn’t quite true yet it will be; listen. When you hear him rolling someone in his bed it gets you wet, a little, doesn’t it? It makes you drop a hand between your legs and think about how he feels, how he smells, all ashes and metal and something wild like the wind racing down the valley. And he knows. Of course he knows, how could he not? This is your lesson, after all. And when he’s fucking some pretty long-limbed thing and husks out aren’t you good, aren’t you sweet you hear the words etched underneath: _don’t you miss it, sweetness? My hands on you? Your legs around my waist? Aren’t you tired of being lonely?_

All these things he says and more, but right now with his hardness thick and heavy on your tongue all you can do is try your best to make him proud. And the bars are bruising cold against your cheeks; there will be lines of soreness later to match the rawness in your throat because he is not kind with this, nor gentle; he takes and takes and takes, and what he leaves is the satisfaction of having pleased him and the bitter taste of come. And his thumb swipes over your lips in passing; he tastes a little of himself and smiles. _Little bird. You’re learning._

_Now, sweet, you’ve fed, but aren’t you thirsty? Come here. Open your mouth._ And Billy Lee takes a sip of bourbon from the glass; he smiles a little close-mouthed smile and bends to you. He spits his drink in a slow stream between your parted lips; it puddles on your tongue and you swallow it down; it burns warmly down your raw and aching throat. _Open up_ he says again and gives you a chaser of his own spittle, hot and still faintly flavored by his drink. And this, as well, you swallow down with fervor: this is his gift to you and it is sweet. _That’s good. That’s good. See? You need me for your pleasure and your thirst. Whatever would you do without me?_

None of this is right, and yet. And yet. He hazes out your mind with his seduction, with the cruelty in the way he says _you’re mine._ The cage becomes his close embrace, and when finally he lifts you free it’s almost frightening, with all that space for your stiffened limbs to spread out in. And at first he made as though to bind you to the bed, but _sweet. I don’t need to, do I? Only for a bit of fun. I see it in your face. You won’t run from me again._ And you won’t, you won’t; the bed is warm and deep and holds you close. And when he sleeps with his arm held tight around you, his embrace is like a cage. 

When he wakes a little in the night he barely has to move to slip inside; Billy Lee binds you with his body inside and out, moving slow and lazy as he takes his pleasure. And you’re good, so good; he’ll get you off because he sees the way you flow with him, moving back against the long line of his body, slowly uncoiling as long hours and days of confinement bleed away. But even when your limbs are liquid, even when you follow him around the compound and sit so meekly by his hand, you will remember the cage and rest your thoughts against the bars.


End file.
